3 Times Murtagh Told Eragon Yes
by starbelow
Summary: Title Tells All. Eragon/Murtagh Pairing. Slash! *Last Chapter is Post War* Slash!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: **I do** **NOT own these characters**. They belong only to Christopher Poalini. I'm only playing with them!

The pain, it was insufferable. It was like scorching white heat trapped inside of his skull, a fire that couldn't be put out. He found himself kneeling at the feet of his master. Or was it cowering in the pitiful form of a ball of skin and bones? Although Galbatorix stood silently above him, lips unmoving, Murtagh could hear his voice shouting, screaming, inside of his head. His scabbed and bloodied hands covered his ears as he banged his head against to hard cold floor in hopes that his master's voice would fall out. He was sure he would go crazy…or crazier.

Murtagh had tried to remain silent, to not let Galbatorix have the pleasure of seeing how much pain he was in, but he couldn't bite his tongue any longer. He opened his mouth and let out a broken cry of torment and hopelessness. There was no one who could save him, he couldn't even save himself. The thought that this pain, which was his past and present, would also be his future, his only future, tore another cry – sharper and angrier – from his burning sore throat. Tears washed down his face in unrelenting waves.

"No one will save you." Galbatorix repeated his own thoughts to him. "No one can save you." His deep dark laughter filled Murtagh's head.

"No one will save me." Murtagh whispered brokenly between screams. He'd heard the words so often that he knew they couldn't be anything but the truth. "No one can save me."

He screamed as loud and for as long as he could, his whole body rocked violently from side to side.

"Wake up!" Galbatorix commanded, his voice thundered inside Murtagh's skull. "Open your eyes, wake up!"

Murtagh lifted his head from the ground. His eyes opened to see the soft grass of the forest floor, the dim light of the small fire made the tall thick blades of grass look longer and darker then they really were.

Eragon looked at him with a mixture of fear, pity, and worry painted on his face. He was crouched down next to Murtagh with his hands on his shoulders, ready to shake him again if the need would arise.

"Eragon?" His voice was hoarse and quiet, his throat completely raw.

"It's alright; it was all a terrible dream." Eragon rubbed his back soothingly, practically cradling the boy's upper body in his arms. "It's over now."

Murtagh looked past Eragon's caring face to the cloudy black sky. He fought the feeling of humiliation, the shame of Eragon seeing him like a scared little child, as he tried to calm his hammering heart. Murtagh tried to think of soothing images, but found it hard with Eragon raking the fingers of a steady hand through his dark long hair. His fingers were light and moved slowly against his scalp. He didn't need to conjure images to comfort him, he felt himself relax a little. His tense body eased and he let himself lean against Eragon.

The fear that kept the thunderous tempo of his heart fast and irregular faded. It was gradually flushed out by a more powerful emotion, a stronger, and more potent and pressing awareness.

"Things will get better." Eragon murmured softly as he continued to absentmindedly stroke the older boy's dark hair. His soft eyes, filled with such baleful memories, stared blindly into the small dying fire. "You'll see." His telling eyes showed the slightest bit of fear. He looked down at Murtagh resting in his lap, the older boy's eyes were beseeching hope and something else he couldn't recognize. "Your dreams will get better."

"Until then…" Murtagh made it a question. His voice still felt rough and oxidized in his throat.

"Until then…" He watched Eragon try to grasp for something to mollify him. "Well, when I had nightmares, it always helped to know that someone else was there for me if I needed them. Roran would let me sleep next to him. If it was a terribly bad dream, he'd even let me hold tight to him." Eragon's hand froze in mid-stroke.

Murtagh knew what was to come next, and smiled inwardly. He already had the answer on his tongue.

"You can hold tight to me." Eragon's voice came out softer than it usually was, but Murtagh heard it as clear as if he had yelled it in an open field. "Do you want to sleep with me?"

Murtagh wrapped his arms around the younger boy, who slid down, next to him, to make it easier to be embraced. He remembered thinking about how perfectly Eragon fit against his body. "Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: **Disclaimer!! I do NOT own these characters**, they belong to the one and only Christopher Paolini, I'm just playing with them. :]

Murtagh sat by a bubbling river that flowed swiftly over a shallow bed of rocks. Trees shaded the little group from the hard rays of the sun. Eragon sat a few feet away in deep concentration. Murtagh watched Saphira. She was crouched next to the river, her long large tongue reached out to lap up the water. They were all weary from traveling and had decided to take a break for rest and water.

He kept his gaze on the beautiful blue dragon, but his ears were listening to Eragon. He had to strain his ears to pick up any of the younger boy's whispered mumbling over the water and Saphira's lapping. Eragon was trying desperately to read, silently, from a book Arya had gifted him, but once he came upon a word he wasn't familiar with he had to sound it out. Eragon tried to do this so that on one could hear him, but Saphira could hear him clearly and Murtagh could hear him - just barely.

It was amusing to Murtagh that Eragon was embarrassed about practicing his reading.

_'Of all the things he has to be embarrassed of.'_ A low chuckle tickled the older boy's throat.

"What are you laughing at?" The light haired boy lifted his head; his voice was defensive and coarse.

Murtagh turned his gaze on the boy and offered a slight smirk. Like himself, Eragon easily put walls between himself and the world. He didn't trust anyone, expect Saphira. They were very much alike. He had tried telling this to Eragon, but the rider denied it. Of course, who would want to be like him, Murtagh? They'd dropped the subject and never brought it up again. It was better that way. Instead, Eragon focused on the differences.

"Nothing, just thinking…" He bit his thumbnail and let his eyes fall to the ground.

Eragon's pouting lips smoothed out into a soft thin curved line. He weighed the book in his hands and glanced at his dragon. With her face near the water he could only see the greater portion of her large blue backside.

"You know how to read…" It wasn't a question.

Murtagh nodded his head. He wanted so badly to sit next to Eragon, lay the boy's head in his lap and read him all of the stories in the world – especially if it meant he could spend more time with him. As soon as they reached the Varden, Murtagh knew he would have barely any time with Eragon, what with Arya, the dwarves, and the others wanting him to do this and that. They always kept Eragon running around like a madman.

Finally, he looked up to see his companion's face distorted with what must have been another one of his inner conflicts. Another thing Eragon didn't care to share with him. Murtagh pulled himself to his feet, walked over to the rider, and sat next to him. Their arms touched and brushed. Eragon scooted the slightest inch away from the dark haired boy, just enough so they couldn't touch.

"What is this?" Murtagh snatched the book from the younger boy's hands. _Songs of Spring, A Book of Poetry_. He opened the book to the marked page and began reading aloud the poem that was causing Eragon so much trouble. It wasn't really his style of poetry, but it was alright.

When he finished, Eragon's chest leaned against his arm, their bodies touched and pressed against one another. Murtagh picked up the heady scent of sweat, water and earth on the boy's skin. He wished to remain this close to him forever. Eragon pointed to the words he didn't know and asked what they meant. Then he asked Murtagh to read it again. And he did. At a soothing pace his deep voice filled the words with feeling and imagery. Murtagh made the poem come alive.

He couldn't help but to feel more than happy when he saw the look of admiration on the younger boy's face.

"One day I want to be able to recite poems like that," Eragon confessed. It was the most candid he had been with Murtagh in weeks. "It was _beautiful_."

"I'm sure you will, one day."

"But first I have to learn to read well."

"True."

Murtagh watched Eragon's mouth search for the words he wanted to say. He stammered a little, but eventually his voice came out clearly. "You don't have to if you don't want to, but…I know you don't have much patience, I promise I'll learn quickly, it's just…Will you teach me to read?"

Murtagh imagined many days and nights sitting next to Eragon, both of them huddling over a book. He imagined their arms touching, Eragon's body brushing against his, and the scent of his skin. This was his chance to get what he wanted; more time alone with the rider. It was a chance he couldn't pass up.

"Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I **DO NOT** own these characters, they belong solely to Christopher Paolini. I only enjoy playing with them =]

A/N: Please don't leave a comment telling me that Eragon and Murtagh are related ( I know this) and that my stories bother you because of it, I clearly state that my stories are Era/Mur. You decided to still read it, those kind of comments are annoying. Thank you.

****

Murtagh shoved the last of his belongings into his knapsack, it was time for him to go. The Varden didn't need him anymore. Nausada didn't need him anymore, and more importantly, Eragon didn't need him anymore. It'd been a month since The Last Battle. He'd done his part in killing Galbatorix and it was all over. Things were starting to return to normal, the people were starting to adapt and settle to a life without a evil king. There was no place for him among the Varden, Murtagh knew that.

With a toss of his knapsack over his shoulder, Murtagh was out into the night. He stepped lightly but quickly, he didn't want to wake anyone and he wanted to get out of the camp as quickly as possible. He was about to pass Eragon's tent, but hesitated and stopped before passing it. Saphira was nowhere to be seen. There was no light within the tent, which was strange. Ever since the Last Battle Eragon had been suffering from nightly terrors that made it impossible for him to sleep. Murtagh spent many long nights in that tent at his side, watching over the younger dragon rider and swapping nightmares and dreams in general. Murtagh was always able to soothe Eragon back to sleep. He stood outside the tent listening to Eragon's steady breathing as he slept soundly for the third consecutive night in over a month. It was true, Eragon really didn't need him anymore. He could get through the night all on his own.

About a mile outside of camp Murtagh told himself for the hundredth and ninety-seventh time that "it's for the best." He was about to say it again when someone jumped down from a tall dark tree some feet ahead. Murtagh reached for his sword instinctively, but dropped his hand when he saw Eragon's face emerge from the darkness. He stepped into a shaft of moonlight.

Suddenly Murtagh's chest felt too small for his heart was beating against his breast so violently that he had to lay his hand over his chest to keep his heart from escaping his body. He had been caught.

"You were really going to leave without saying goodbye?" Pain ran deep in the rider's broken voice.

All Murtagh could do was stare. He watched Eragon's mouth open and close, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he tried to swallow past the thing that caused his voice to break. Murtagh wondered if he had been crying, or if he was about to start.

Great gusts of air and the sound of beating wings caused Murtagh to turn his head to see Saphira landing behind him. She eyed him closely with her large sapphire eyes and looked at Eragon as if to say "told you so." Murtagh turned back to Eragon.

"I thought you were asleep." was his only response.

"Why?" Eragon took two steps closer. "So you could sneak out, never to see me again?"

"No, I…"

"What then, what is it?" The rider demanded.

"I don't belong with the Varden." Murtagh's reply came out weakly.

Eragon stepped closer closing the space between their bodies. Murtagh noticed he was shaking, his eyes were slightly tinged red. The very idea that his leaving, his absence, would have this sort of effect on the young man standing before him made Murtagh both unbelievably happy and hate himself more than he has ever hated himself before.

"Forget about the Varden, this isn't about the Varden…is it?"

"I can't..." Murtagh looked down at the ground. The toe of his boot drew anxious lines in the black dirt. "It doesn't matter, it's too late." He muttered under his breath.

His eyes continued to stare at the dirt until Eragon cupped his face with both of his hands and raised his face until he looked at him again. Eragon's hands were warm, clammy, and shaking, as if he were nervous. Tears were forming in his sad brown eyes.

"Why are you trying to convince yourself of this?"

Murtagh watched a tear roll down the brunette's left cheek, absentmindedly he wiped it away. The cheek was soft, but cold in the cool darkness of the night.

"Do you know what you are trying to talk yourself out of?" Eragon continued, his voice wavered.

This, right here, standing before him in the middle of the night trying to convince him to stay, asking him to stay, was Eragon. A heart-worn Eragon. Everything he wanted; _Eragon_. And he wanted him to stay.

Eragon leaned forward and nestled his face into the dark haired boy's neck, his arm wrapped around his waist. Murtagh's heart went wild, his face became hot and flushed. Eragon's tears were coming faster.

Murtagh heard Saphira take a few steps closer, the dirt crunched under her huge paws. He remembered that she felt her rider's distress.

"I love you." Eragon cried.

He couldn't stand firm in the face of this coveted admission of love. Murtagh's tenacity dissolved completely, he wrapped his arms around the sobbing brunette. His hands stroked his hair comfortingly.

"I love you too" It was the only thing he had said all night that he knew to be undoubtedly true.

"Then don't go, please." Eragon raised his head to look into his face.

They were close enough that if Murtagh puckered his lips, they would touch Eragon's. He found himself frozen. Murtagh knew that he wouldn't be able to keep from kissing Eragon. He held on to his restraint by an unraveling thread.

"Will you stay with me?" Eragon asked, his breath warmed the older boy's cheek. His eyes were filled with longing, the same longing the dark haired boy had tried to suppress in his own heart.

Murtagh cut the thread of self-control and seized Eragon's lips with his own, his tongue found a way into the younger boy's mouth. He utterly lost himself in the moment, nothing existed or matter outside this moment. The kiss was passionate and deep, and filled with every ounce of his love. After a moment he realized that he left the question unanswered, he pulled away for only a second before returning for another kiss.

"Yes."


End file.
